


Be My Damnation

by jonsasnow



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Close Quarters, F/M, Jonsa on the run, Princess Sansa, Tumblr Prompts, ambiguously titled lord jon targaryen, idek, jonsa, weird timey wimey fantasy thing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 08:21:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11100663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonsasnow/pseuds/jonsasnow
Summary: The city of Winterfell has fallen and Lord Jon must take the last remaining member of the royal family to the Targaryens in the hopes that his estranged family might offer her refuge.But will the rebels catch up to them before they can make it? Will Princess Sansa be his salvation or will her royal blood damn them both?





	Be My Damnation

**Author's Note:**

> this was a tumblr prompt for jonsa + royalty, except anon asked for modern royalty and i royally (ha ha) fucked up. 
> 
> anyway, i hope you guys still enjoy it. there's a part II coming hopefully very soon.

The world he had known erupted in flames the night the royal family was massacred in their sleep. Rebels from the south swarmed the city of Winterfell in droves, wielding weapons forged in blood and steel, as screams echoed in the hollow city. Jon had barely been awake for more than a minute when incessant pounding forced him to hastily slip on his coat to answer the door. Brienne stood before him, blood trickling down past her armour, and blue eyes dampened in what he would later come to recognise as grief. She stepped to one side and revealed the princess. The eldest Stark daughter glanced up at him.

“Lord Snow,” she said. Her voice was soft, barely audible above the cries of the fallen city, but it was strong, steady and deceptively calm. “The Stark – _I_ need your help.” 

Jon shook his head. “I am no lord, m’lady.” 

Princess Sansa’s eyes flickered over him, scrutinising his attire, which consisted of a simple tunic, coat and trousers. “You may not look as one, but you cannot hide your birthright.” 

“I never sought to deceive anyone,” he said with more bite than was appropriate, but the world was on fire and Jon was not going to have this discussion with a Stark. 

“ _Jon_ ,” Brienne cut in, sighing wearily. “The royal family are dead. Sansa is the only one left. We need to keep her safe.” 

His heart stuttered to a stop, mind flashing through memories of grey eyes, dark hair and lips perpetually curved in a smirk. “No,” he exhaled, as his hand shot out to grip the door frame. “ _No_. Not… Is she –?”

“My sister is dead.” 

Jon shook his head. He refused to believe that Arya – wonderful, strong, determined Arya – could be gone from this world. She had been the only person in his life who ever thought he could amount to anything more than what he allowed himself to be, and not because of his family, but because she knew _him_. 

“The rebels?” He finally looked up towards the last remaining Stark. Her face betrayed no emotion, but even stone cracked. 

“The Lannisters led them,” Brienne provided, as if he had needed any more kindling for the fire raging inside him, but his head snapped up at that. She nodded minutely. “They have the South, North and then they will head West.” 

“The Eastern lands are barren,” the princess explained. “It’s the only conceivable plan.” 

An explosion rocked the city, and even from where Jon lived just on the outskirts of Winterfell, his home shook with the force. They were wasting time. They needed to leave now. 

Jon turned away from the two women to grab his rucksack. He threw in clothes, food and weapons, unsure of what exactly he was taking with him, but his mind was in a haze. It was fogging over like the farmlands in the early morning, thick with grey mist. He could not make sense of this new world; he could not comprehend any more than the menial task before him. If he allowed himself, Jon would fall and he may let himself burn down with this city if he did. 

“What of you, Brienne?” he asked as soon as he latched the door close behind him. If she was coming to him for assistance, she was not coming with them. It was the only reason the guard would ever abandon Princess Sansa. 

“She will not be coming with us,” the princess answered instead, her tone effectively ending the line of query. She glanced to her personal guard and the women exchanged small nods. The princess clasped a hand around the older woman’s arm. It was soft and fond– the first crack in her steely armour. 

Once Brienne had left, Jon led the princess round back to his trusty steed. “You will have to ride with me, princess. Two horses will attract too much attention.” To his surprise, she merely nodded. From all the stories Arya had told him about her older sister, Jon expected more of an argument. But then, in the few minutes he’d been speaking to her, Princess Sansa was nothing like Jon imagined. She was not a young girl caught in the throes of romance and songs; she had ice in her eyes, hardened against the coming storm, and in spite of the copper hair, she reminded him of Arya in this moment. 

They rode for two days only stopping for food and water. Jon could ride to the West without much sleep and so he had planned to do exactly that, but by the eve of the third day, Princess Sansa removed her hands from around his waist and squeezed his right arm tightly. “ _Jon_ ,” she said carefully, as if wary of startling him. “You need sleep. Please; just rest.”

“They’ll be looking for you, princess. I can’t let them catch up to us,” Jon answered, but he could feel his muscles beginning to tense with exhaustion, locking up against the strain it’s been put through. 

“But if they catch up to us now, will you the strength to fight them?” she asked pointedly, and Jon knew she was right. “Now, we will find shelter and we will both rest.” 

Even though she had just lost her entire family, her city, everything she’d ever known, the command with which she spoke was as authoritative as if she was on the throne. Jon could not be miffed at a woman who knew how to demand respect with just the snap of her words. She must haved learned it from her mother. Arya had the same way about her; although she was more aggressive. She played her emotions clear on her sleeves, whereas Princess Sansa appeared to keep it buried deep within. 

It only took an hour for them to find a small hidden cave in the woods. The proximity to a stream was a small miracle, but Jon warned her that it could lead others here too so she was to stay by his side at all cost. If she wished to bathe, Jon would accompany her and turn to keep her modesty. 

“It would scandalise all my ladies-in-waiting, but modesty is the least of my concerns, Lord Jon,” she said. 

Jon ducked his head to hide his amusement. “That may well be, m’lady, but I’m afraid _I_ must insist.”

She laughed and the sound brought his gaze back to hers. She looked as surprised by it as he did. 

“If you insist then, my lord,” Sansa said, smiling at him, before wading ankle deep into the water still fully-clothed. “You may turn.” 

As soon as Jon heard the rustle of her clothes dropping to the muddied bank, the air around them appeared to change, charging with some kind of current he could not readily recognise. The water splashed softly behind him with Princess Sansa’s ministrations. He was despicable for thinking of her in such a fashion when she was at her most vulnerable. Jon was sworn to protect her; was he so depraved as to stand here imagining her soft skin under the silver light of tonight’s moon? Could he not be in the presence of a beautiful woman without being so racked with want? 

Jon shifted, fingers clenching by his sides. He would not desecrate Arya’s memory by lusting after her sister. She would punch him for it if she knew. 

Abruptly, a quiet giggle tore his attention away from the self-loathing waging inside of him. Jon nearly turned in curiosity, but stopped himself just in time. “Princess?” 

She giggled again. “I did not think of how short my sister was.” 

“Pardon, m’lady?” 

“Oh, Jon, you may turn.” And when he did, he found the princess standing there in a white tunic and tight dark breeches. She met his eyes with a small bemused smile on her face. “A dress is not so helpful when you are running. This is Arya’s.” 

“Aye,” he nodded, smiling back at her. “There’s a tear right there,” he pointed to the top of her thigh, “where she ripped it trying to escape being seen by your mother.” 

Sansa’s eyes widened and she bent over to get a better look. “Oh, that girl. She was always so troublesome.” Her smile turned despairing and Jon’s heart ached with grief. Sansa returned her gaze back to him. “You loved her.” 

It wasn’t a question, but he answered anyways. “Yes. I loved your sister very much. She was –” He sighed, rubbing a hand wearily over his face. “The greatest friend a man could ever ask for.” 

“Friend?” she questioned. “You do not have to lie to me, Jon. I would not hold it against you for falling in love with my sister.” 

Jon gaped at her for a long second before chuckling loudly, disrupting the quiet of the evening. “Princess, I assure you I am not,” he said. “She is like family to me.”

It shouldn’t please him as much as it did when her face brightened at his words, but it felt like they were dancing on the precipice of something, and Jon couldn’t quite tell if he should be afraid of what that might be. 

“I see,” was all Sansa said, as she ducked her head and walked towards the direction of the cave. 

Jon followed obediently behind, watching the sway of her copper hair, wet from the stream. Droplets of water dripped down the white tunic and turned the cloth transparent. Jon clenched his fists more forcibly. “Princess,” he said as calmly as he could. She stopped and glanced at him over her shoulder. “Your hair. You’ll be cold.” He stripped himself of his jacket and closed the distance between them to drape it across her shoulders.

Her brows furrowed together, a frown settling on her lips in a way that made him long to kiss it from her face. Jon nearly reeled back from that sudden and unwelcomed thought. 

“And what of you, Jon? Will you not be cold?” 

“I’ll survive, m’lady,” he answered a little more gruffly than he intended, but her prolonged presence in his life was beginning to overwhelm him.

Sansa nodded slowly, reluctant to agree, but she turned back towards the cave. 

The night was long and harsh. Even in the safety of the cave, the wind carried to where they slept, reaching out for any exposed patch of skin, biting and unrelenting. Jon wouldn’t have been able to sleep even if he had the intention of doing so. He knew they had stopped specifically to allow him rest, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were far from safe. His eyes scanned the darkness beyond their shelter, listening for movement and waiting in anticipation for something he hoped would never come. But it was hard to hear anything through the howling wind. 

“Jon?” 

“Princess.” He moved to her prone figure. “What is it?” 

“Why –” She stopped and pulled herself up to a sitting position to level a glare at him. “Why are you awake? You should be resting.” 

Jon sighed, and ran a hand through his unruly curls. “Someone has to stand guard, m’lady.” 

“And do you think me frail, Jon?” Sansa questioned, and there was that steely glint in her eyes again that warned him against answering. “Because a few less hours of sleep a night will not kill me.” 

He should have realised that in spite of their differences Sansa Stark would be as stubborn, if not more so than her sister. He glanced back to the cave door. The night _was_ cold and harsh; it would be reasonable to assume they would be safe inside here till morning. 

“We will both sleep.” 

He laid his head down on the hard floor and wrapped his arms around himself to preserve some warmth. But the thin tunic he wore was no match for the raging wind. He longed for a fire, but knew it was an unnecessary risk. He could survive. He _had_ survived much worse than this night. 

It was barely a minute later when the princess spoke again. “I can hear your teeth chattering, Jon.” He made an affirming grunt, which earned him a resigned sigh. To his surprise, he felt her settle in behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist and throwing the jacket over the both of them. “Stop thinking so loudly,” she said, a teasing lilt in her voice. “Propriety is the last of my concerns when we could both easily die in our sleep from the cold. Just rest.”

“Princess Sansa, if anyone were to –” 

“And who would?” she interrupted, the teasing gone, replaced by a sharpness he hadn’t heard before. “Who is left out there to care? My family is _dead_. The royal family is no more. I am as much a princess as you are, Jon. I have nothing left.” 

“You are not alone,” he said instantly, a fierce yearning to protect her draping over him. Against all odds, come hell or high water, Jon would lay his life down for her. 

Sansa stirred behind him, burrowing her face into the crook of his neck. “You kind-hearted buffoon. No one can protect anyone in this world. I am merely prolonging my death.” 

The defeated sigh forced him to roll over to face her, his arms pulling her tightly against him, because she was right about one thing: propriety be damned. “Sansa, look at me.” She shook her head and hid herself against his chest. “ _Please_ , princess.”

“What, Jon? Are you to tell me everything will be better in the morn?” Sansa scoffed. “We are being hunted by an army of rebels who hate me and my family. We are riding to Targaryen land in the hopes that your family, whom you have not spoken to or seen in many moons, will let me take refuge. Your hope is misplaced, my lord. There is none.” 

He fought against the voice telling him to place some distance between the Stark princess and himself, and cradled her face in his hands. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. And I won’t let you die until you’re grey and old, Sansa Stark. Your life is much too important.” At her sceptical look, he chuckled softly. “You will take back Winterfell. I’ll help you. And you will lead, better than any ruler ever had.” 

“A queen without a king? It’s unheard of,” she whispered back, but her eyes were shining, fond and hopeful, and his heart constricted at the sight. Beauty had never looked so sweet until this moment. 

“Then you will be the first.” 

She placed a hand over one of his and smiled. “Will you be my knight?” 

“What is a queen without her knight?” Jon grinned, unable to stop himself from tracing the line of her cheek with his thumb. 

“One without her heart.”

The look she sent him was so earnest, so full of an emotion Jon did not want to see, yet relished in all the same. She would be his salvation and his damnation. “Sansa, please…” He needed to tell her how this could never be, but before he could even form his thoughts into words, her lips were on his, gentle, coaxing and shy all at the same time. 

“You are thinking too loudly again, my lord,” she whispered against his lips, and that was all the encouragement he needed before his hands carded through her hair to tug her closer to him. 

Sinking into the kiss was as easy as falling in love. In a way, it was easier. Jon could quiet his mind by letting his body react to hers, their lips moving in perfect tandem as they pressed needily against each other. Everything about Sansa was easy if he only let it, because loving her was more natural to him than breathing. He had never known anyone who understood and challenged him as well as her. In this moment tonight, she was his salvation – the mate his soul had searched far and wide for. And maybe tomorrow, their love would bleed out, crimson against the ground, as she damned him to death, but he would gladly cross that threshold if he could have this with her. 

Lightning thundered out beyond their cave, and Jon sighed into her, pulling back to rest his head on her shoulder. “It should be impossible to feel joy in the face of such tragedy, and perhaps I have cursed us for it.” 

“Then I have too,” Sansa said with a gentle smile that was only for him. “My heart still grieves, Jon. I fear it will never stop grieving for my lost family, but it will heal too and I believe that is because of you.” 

He smiled back, leaning forward once more to capture her lips, when thunder roared above them again. But something in the back of his mind forced him to sit up, pulling her with him. 

“Sansa,” he breathed out, dread rising in his throat. “That’s not thunder.” 


End file.
